


Where the Wild Things Are

by snarkymuch



Series: Broken!Verse [15]
Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 08:27:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12527184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkymuch/pseuds/snarkymuch





	Where the Wild Things Are

"The wild things roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth," Dean read, Sam sitting in the recliner and Dean on the ratty old couch. "And rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws." Dean cleared his throat. "But Max stepped into his private boat and waved goodbye."

Sam made a strange noise, and Dean paused to look at him, closing the book as he did. He studied his brother's face. It was tight and anxious. Dean tossed the book off to the side and pushed himself to stand. Sam's eyes were fixed on the book. Dean wondered what was going through his mind.

"Alright, I think we've had enough reading for the night," Dean said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Why don't we hit the hay?"

Sam didn't move though. He was still gazing at the book.

Dean waved a hand in the air. "Hello, earth to Sammy. I said bed. Let's go."

Sam's eyes snapped to meet Dean's. There was something off about Sam. Dean could see the gears working in his brother's mind. He was thinking hard. It was always a gamble what that meant. It could be nothing or it could be an impending meltdown. Dean wasn't so lucky as to ever get a warning as to which. Tonight, Dean had a feeling that things were going to go downhill. It was probably best for all involved to get Sam into bed before the proverbial shit hit the fan. Dean wasn't up to going rounds with him—not tonight. After everything that had happened lately, Dean was feeling run down himself.

Sam's gaze finally broke from the book and he pushed himself to stand. He walked passed Dean and toward the bedroom—not saying a single word. Dean groaned. It was going to be one of those kind of nights. Sighing, Dean followed Sam down the short hall to Sam's bedroom. Despite knowing it could lead to an epic meltdown, Dean needed to see what was eating at Sam. There was only one hitch. When he got to the bedroom door, it slammed in his face. Yep. It was one of those nights.

Dean put a hand on either side of the doorframe and put his head against the door. "Sam," Dean pleaded. "I don't know what crawled up your ass, but come on, man. Let me in."

Dean heard shuffling, but the door didn't open. "Fine," Dean pushed himself back. "We'll talk in the morning. Get some sleep."

Dean padded across the hall and into his room, the floor cold against his bare feet as he made his way over to the window, looking out at the late winter storm. He could feel the cool air seeping from the old panes of glass. He folded his arms around himself, hands under his arms for warmth. His thoughts were on Sam. He wished he knew how to help Sam, but so far, every lead had been a dead end. Bobby had come up with nothing.

Saying an empty prayer to Castiel like he did every night, Dean went to bed. He hoped sleep would find him tonight. It had been too long since he'd slept longer than a few hours at time. Most nights were spent tossing and turning with nightmares of Sam bleeding in the store. Grabbing his pillow and tugging it under his head, Dean drifted off to sleep.

The house was quiet, the falling snow outside seeming to wrap them in a deafening blanket of silence. Dean tossed in his bed. Something didn't feel right, but he couldn't place what. He pushed himself up on an elbow and looked at the time. It was three o'clock in the morning. He couldn't get the way Sam had acted tonight out of his mind. It seemed different than his usual tantrums of not getting his way. Dean thought back to what had happened before it began. They were only reading. It used to be one of his favorite books as a kid—Where the Wild Thing Are. He thought he'd like it, so he had picked it up at the library in town the day before as a surprise. Apparently, it wasn't a hit as it sent Sam into a pretty nasty mood.

Wanting to check on his brother, just to put his own mind at ease, Dean got up and quietly went to Sam's bedroom. He carefully turned the knob and opened the door, trying not to wake him. Cold air struck Dean first, the wind was churning flakes of snow through the air as the curtains whipped in the wind. He looked to the bed only to see Sam gone. It felt like his heart took one final beat and stopped in chest, making him stagger back. A million possibilities ran through Dean's mind in that moment—none of them good.

He had to find Sam. Not bothering to get dressed in more than his jacket and boots, he ran out the door. The air hit Dean's face like razor blades. It was cold, too cold to be out. Fear spread through him as he realized Sam probably wasn't dressed for the weather and there was no telling how long he'd been out there.

Starting where Sam was last, Dean went to the side of the cabin that Sam's bedroom was on. Much to Dean's relief, the snow hadn't filled in the tracks left behind by his brother. He looked around, searching for any sign that someone else, or something else, had been there, too. He saw nothing out of place. He breathed a sigh of relief seeing that Sam hadn't been forced against his will. The weather was getting worse though. The cold was seeping through Dean's jacket and he pulled it tighter around himself. He had to find Sam now.

Dean called out to Sam as he followed the ever-fading tracks in the snow. "Sammy! Answer me!"

Snow fell from a pine bow a distance from Dean, landing with a thud. He looked over to where it had fallen and that's when he saw him, huddled up beside a large rock, knees drawn to his chest and arms wrapped around them.

"Sammy!" Dean shouted as he ran through the deep snow. Sam didn't move though. Dean swallowed a painful lump in his throat as he closed the distance. "You're gonna be alright, Sam. I'm almost there." And he would be okay—he had to be.

Dean fell to his knees beside Sam. His brother's only protection from the weather a sweatshirt, pajama pants and slippers. What had been going through Sam's head? Dean didn't have time to think about that know though. He needed to get Sam back to the cabin.

"Sam," Dean said firmly. "We need to get you back inside, like now."

A violent shiver passed through Sam. He looked up at Dean, his wet hair hanging around his face, snowflakes stuck to his lashes. He blinked at Dean and then nodded. "Cold."

"Yeah, no shit." Dean already had his hands under Sam's arms, tugging him to his feet. "We need to get you back to the cabin."

Sam nodded but didn't say anything else.

They were going to have to talk about whatever was going through his head, but first he needed to get Sam warmed up. Sam's lips were tinted blue and his teeth were chattering. It was no wonder given what he was wearing. The fabric of his clothes was completely soaked through and growing stiff from the cold.

It took longer than Dean liked to get Sam back to the Cabin. He was moving slow. He was becoming lethargic from the cold. Dean knew he needed to warm him up soon. Hypothermia was nothing to play around with. He knew he was going to have to be gentle with him or risk making things much worse.

Sam looked ready to collapse by the time they got inside. Dean tossed his own jacket off to the side and went to work. Sam was shivering violently now. He gently manipulated Sam's arms to get the wet sweatshirt shirt off. He then stripped the tee shirt off that laid beneath. Sam's skin was peppered with goosebumps, his skin cold and damp to the touch. Sam's shivering seemed to grow impossibly worse, sending a wave of concern through Dean. He ran to the couch and grabbed the throw, wrapping Sam.

"Don't worry, Sam," Dean reassured. "We'll get you nice and toasty again. Just hang on."

"Sorry, De," Sam said through chattering teeth.

"We'll talk about it later. I need to get those pants off you, then you can lay down." Dean grabbed the waistband of the pajama pants and slid them down. "Oh, can't forget the slippers." Dean grabbed each foot one at a time and waited for Sam to lift them, sliding them off. His socks were soaked and feet ice cold. Dean was scared to pull his socks off. He prayed Sam didn't have frostbite. Carefully, just in case there was frostbite, he peeled the wet fabric away. He breathed a sigh of relief that Sam's feet were okay.

"Cold," Sam said again.

Dean pushed himself up. "Come on, let's get you to the couch. We need to warm you up."

Sam nodded and made his way to the couch. He laid down on the couch on his side, drawing his knees to his chest. He was still shivering. Dean needed to warm him up fast. He jogged to his room and grabbed all the blankets from his bed. He laid them over Sam.

"Sorry," Sam whispered.

"I'm not mad, Sam. I just don't understand."

Sam closed his eyes and Dean sighed. It was okay. The conversation could wait. Getting Sam warm came first. Dean went and began digging through the old cabinets in the bathroom for any supplies that could help. They didn't have a dryer to warm blankets, but he lucked out. He found an old hot water bottle. That would work perfect. He filled it with warm water and brought it to Sam, slipping it under the covers and on his chest. Sam's arms wrapped around it.

Dean breathed a sigh of relief. He sat down on the coffee table and watched Sam as he slept, his eyes fixed on the rise and fall of Sam's chest. It was reassuring. It was a motion that Dean would never let stop.

Hours passed but Dean kept his vigil beside Sam. The orange light of the sunrise began to peek in through the windows, casting stretching shadows through the room, the light warming Dean's back. Sam's steady rhythm of breaths began to change. He was waking up. Dean had been waiting all night for this. They could finally talk. Sam could finally explain why he ran away—if that's what he was doing. His eyes blinked open and he brought his hands up to scrub at his eyes. His sleepy gaze fell on Dean's exhausted one.

"De?" Sam asked, pulling the blankets up to his chin.

Dean drew a breath to center himself, wanting to be as calm as possible so Sam would open up. "We need to talk," Dean started. "Why did you go out there last night?"

Sam looked past Dean, avoiding his eyes, and shrugged.

Dean sighed. "Was it the book?"

Sam shrugged.

"We're getting nowhere fast." Dean ran a hand over his five o'clock shadow. "What is it about the book that upset you?"

"I'm Max," Sam mumbled.

"Huh?"

"No one understands," Sam said. "Just wanted away."

"Sammy …" Dean didn't know what to say.

"I don't … I'm trapped, De." Sam closed his eyes and Dean saw the tears wetting his lashes.

"Oh, Sam," Dean choked. It was everything he feared his brother felt. He reached out and brushed the hair from Sam's face. A tear escaped from Sam's eye and Dean wiped it away with his thumb. "It's gonna be alright, Sammy. I promise. If you're Max, then you know that I'll always be here, waiting for you to come home."

"Promise?"

"I swear."


End file.
